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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29674872">The Flower House</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bongbingbong/pseuds/bongbingbong'>bongbingbong</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Doctor and the Mailman [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Trek: The Original Series</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Western, Autistic Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Autistic Spock (Star Trek), Bad Dad Sarek, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, I do it for the H/C babey whomst cares about historical accuracy, M/M, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, mild violence, not me, shitty depictions of old west doctoring</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 00:21:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,042</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29674872</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bongbingbong/pseuds/bongbingbong</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The third and final instalment of The Doctor and the Mailman: A Western Spones AU!</p><p>Spock and Doctor McCoy have been living together in a small town now, out of the way, where nobody can find them. Spock grows flowers. The women and children of the town grow to love and adore their gentle local doctor. However, they all live under one constant fear: When will Sarek finally catch up to them, and what happens when he does?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Doctor and the Mailman [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1965889</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>39</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Flower House</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Note: This is the third in a series, and while you don't necessarily need to have read the first two to enjoy this, I would definitely recommend it!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The house sits just on the edge of the area most of them would consider Ghostworth. It is small. It is sturdy. It has been made with steady hands and methodical eyes. In fact, it is one of the most well made houses in the area.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There is a garden.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At first, this detail was met with derision, or giggles, or outright confusion. Who would waste their time growing flowers out here? Who would pour all of that time and effort into maintaining something so fragile, out here in the heat and the dust? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The flowers, however, are tended with the same hands that build the house, and so they have grown, and they have thrived. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The house is a splash of colour in the desert, a thing of beauty framed by rock and dirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>People watch, and they listen. They see two men who think nothing of kneeling in full view of the sun to tend to something that will bring them no money, no full belly at night, nothing but the simple desire to see something pretty. And they wonder what kind of men that makes them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From the way the people in the town spoke about them, one would think that McCoy and Spock did nothing but idle away their time in the front garden. They hadn’t expected it to become such a point of talk in the town, but it had happened nonetheless. They had become the gentlemen with the flowers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy knew this suited Spock just fine. He could see it in the way he stood a little taller, in the way he came in of an evening, tanned and healthy and with a smile in his eyes. It was a beautiful thing to behold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For McCoy, he found himself busier than he’d ever been, although he found that his work didn’t drain him in the way it had previously. Instead of patching up criminals and fending off shouting men, he spent his time administering inoculations, fixing farming injuries. He saw to little ones who had fallen and hurt themselves, and would knock on his door without an ounce of fear and ask for Doctor McCoy. It was nice not to be shouted at. It was nice not having to live his life on his toes, waiting for the next terrible tragedy to happen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy gazed out the window as he tidied up the room he used for seeing patients. He and Spock had planned the house very carefully to make sure that there was one, that he would have space to carry on his work. That part was more important than anything. There were plenty of windows to let in sunlight and air, a little bed, and enough shelves to keep all of his things in order. And if Spock came in occasionally and put everything back in the place it was meant to be, well. That was up to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs Buckley was coming up the path to see him, carrying a cloth covered basket. That was also another thing that had improved McCoy's life as of late - a lot of his patients were now married women who had for far too long simply carried on with their mouths shut and their heads down. Not for the lack of a doctor, but from some of the stories he’d heard, they might have been better without. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs Buckley had been one of the first to come to him, drawn there by the fact that the town’s children would come home with flowers that they’d picked from the nice doctor and his funny friend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had come, tight-lipped and white knuckled, and told him in halting, stuttered sentences about the lump that was growing on the back of her head, kept hidden by her bonnet and her straw coloured hair. She had looked small in the room there, sitting hunched into herself in the chair even though she towered over McCoy in stature.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy had gladly gone through the consultation seated on the other side of the room to her, careful about keeping his distance and moving slowly like one might around a skittish horse. He had placed her medicine on the table where she could reach it herself, and explained the procedure he would have to undertake, were he to remove the lump entirely. He had bowed his head respectfully on his way out and she had nearly fled from the house, clutching the bottle to her chest while he watched her leave and wondered if all women were like this. Up until living in Ghostworth, he hadn’t really known many at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The memory was very different to the beaming face that greeted him when he opened the door to her now. It turned out that the basket contained freshly baked bread, and she had wondered if he and his gentleman friend might like some for when he returned. Spock would likely not be home until sundown, but McCoy gladly put some water on to boil for the two of them, and they sat out the front of the little house, drinking tea with a thick, buttered slice of the bread each.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, any idea how far along Mary is?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs Buckley’s eyes were wide with a carefully curated expression of innocent curiosity. McCoy shook his head and chuckled to himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Straight to the point, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, a woman’s got to prepare for these things! And Mary doesn’t want anybody fussing, so I can’t ask her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And rightly so, too. Woman’s got a right to privacy just like anyone else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you’re right I suppose,” she said, though she didn’t sound convinced, “she’s just such a shy little dear, I wish she’d let me help her out from time to time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two of them sipped at their tea in comfortable silence as they watched the bustle of the main street in the distance. It was a reasonably mild day, and McCoy closed his eyes as a cool breeze passed over the two of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When’s Mr Buckley due back?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mr Buckley worked with the post, much like Spock had in the past. He was a kindly man, soft-spoken and pleasant in private, though silent and stony-faced in public.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tomorrow night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs Buckley drew in a deep breath and held it as she tried to find the words for something difficult.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s been talk of outlaws along the road lately,” she said finally. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So that was why she’d come over - for some company. McCoy could understand that much at least. He had the same worries whenever Spock was gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re mostly small fry. Young men. Kids even, just boys playin’ cowboy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doesn’t stop it from being scary,” said McCoy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” said Mrs Buckley, “it doesn’t. Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy refilled her cup without a word, waiting for her to continue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wish I could go with him, sometimes. Just to make sure nothing bad happens.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gonna ride beside him with a shotgun across your lap?” said McCoy with a smile.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Don’t laugh! I’d do it!” she said, smacking him lightly on the knee, “I always wanted to play cowboy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t doubt it, Mrs Buckley,” he said, “I don’t doubt it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Spock was late home that night, and McCoy tried his best to banish the image Mrs Buckley had put there. Danger on the roads. Guns and enemies, hiding in the desert. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spock got by on taking odd jobs around town. The lack of a schedule allowed him to take entire days to ride out into the desert to gather samples and write in his book, or to tend their garden. However it also meant that the work, on days he found it, was difficult and exhausting. Generally it involved hauling things around, digging holes, or riding horses. Sometimes, a combination of all three. There was no shortage of work to be had around, and he generally found enough to add to McCoy's meager earnings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy, who was too soft hearted to charge his patients more than what was absolutely necessary for any given procedure. Or sometimes nothing at all, if the situation was dire enough. The two of them made do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because he was often out while McCoy stayed in, the place Spock occupied in McCoy’s mind was always tinged with worry. He didn’t like the idea of him riding out alone, where he might be found by Sarek or one of his men. They had had no word about him, save the occasional letter from Amanda. She only ever confirmed that she had no information. They had seen neither hide nor hair from him and his people, but somehow that was worse than knowing for sure that he was on their tail. McCoy carried the tension of it between his shoulders, like a burden he would never be able to quite shake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spock lingered in the doorway when he arrived that night, leaning wearily on the doorframe as he took off his hat and held it in one hand. McCoy had a candle burning for him, and was awake and reading.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are not required to wait up every time I am late in returning,” said Spock. His eyes were soft with fondness for McCoy, who was half illuminated in candlelight with his glasses perched halfway down his nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Course I’m not,” said McCoy, carefully marking his page and closing the book. He got up and went to Spock, taking him by the waist and drawing him into the room. They stood there as the door swung shut behind them, while McCoy took a moment to run his hands up Spock’s back, feeling the familiar curve of his spine, the shape of his muscles. Then he brought him closer and tucked his head under Spock’s chin, sighing as he felt the other man’s warmth melt against him. Spock’s hands came to rest on his hips, and he allowed himself to bask in the feeling of contact, solid and warm and alive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You must be exhausted,” said McCoy into the hollow of Spock’s neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will admit to being a little weary,” agreed Spock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy nodded against him, then steered Spock to the bed they shared, and knelt to remove his boots.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will never understand why you find this to be a pleasant activity,” said Spock, wrinkling his nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never said it was pleasant, I just like to do it for you. Now hold still,” said McCoy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am not moving.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn exasperating is what you are,” muttered McCoy, pressing a kiss to Spock’s knee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spock was asleep not long after that. Today he had been running deliveries for various people from out of town, and the combination of long rides and heavy lifting had properly drained him. McCoy lay down next to him, and laced their fingers together under the blanket before he closed his eyes, willing his mind to relax enough to allow him some rest. Sleep came swiftly for him tonight as well, although unlike Spock, it did not last for long.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spock’s garden. The one with sprays of pinks and reds and purples, green leaves that had no business being out here in the desert. McCoy ran from flower to flower, watering one before realising the next was withering in the heat. No sooner did he refresh one plant, than another began to droop and die. Spock was going to be home soon, and he would be so upset if he found his precious garden dead - and because of him! He could hear footsteps approaching in the distance, but he could not stop his work. But he was working too slowly, and he watched in horror as delicate red petals grew brown edges and began to fall to the ground and gather in puddles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The footsteps were coming nearer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just a minute,” he stammered, “I’ll be with you in a minute.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That will not be necessary.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy had only time to snap his head up and gasp in horror at the sound of Sarek’s voice before he came face to face with the barrel of a gun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy's eyes flew open, and suddenly it was night time again. He gulped in lungfuls of air as he tried to calm his hammering heart, raising a trembling hand to his chest where he was sure he had felt the shot rip straight through him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He startled as a hand caught his elbow, but in the dimly lit room he could make out the outline of Spock’s features, his eyes lined with concern. The pinpricks of light in his eyes danced like rare jewels, and McCoy's frazzled mind focused on this particular detail above all others, too afraid to take in anything more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spock knew better than to try and get any words out of McCoy right now. The nightmares had been unrelenting since they had arrived in Ghostworth, and they showed no sign of slowing down or going away. Spock pulled McCoy close to him, brushing the sweaty strands of hair out of his eyes and guiding his head down to rest on his shoulder. He held McCoy there for a while as he shivered and rode out the adrenaline coursing through him. This was a ritual that happened several times a week, and as he had done so many times before, McCoy pulled away once he had recovered his wits to remember where he was once more, and what he was doing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy apologised every time this happened, no matter how many times he was reassured, no matter how many times Spock told him gently that it wasn’t his fault. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t make sense. Sarek was Spock’s father. Sure, Spock had the occasional off night, but nothing that came even close to the terror that wrenched McCoy from his sleep. Surely if anybody had the right to be suffering, it was Spock. The shame of it was crushing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You cannot help how you feel about this,” said Spock, infinitely patient. McCoy wanted to cry, but he couldn’t do that, couldn’t saddle Spock with yet another crisis to deal with when he’d already woken him from his badly needed rest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will fetch you some water. Wait here. I will return shortly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Spock - it’s alright-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Spock had already risen, and McCoy blinked back the tears that sprung into his eyes at that. How could he explain? He felt so terribly, awfully useless on these nights, it was unbearable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gulped down the water that Spock handed him, and sighed into the cup.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re too good to me,” he said softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That is an illogical way to categorise my actions towards you,” said Spock, taking the cup from his hands and placing it on the table by their bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy couldn’t find any words to answer with, so he remained silent and pliant while Spock pushed him back down onto the bed, rolling him onto his side so that he could curl up behind him. Spock’s arm rested on his waist, holding him so that they were back to chest, and he could feel Spock behind him, feel the faint beating of his heart from where their bodies were pressed together. He knew any further apologies would only upset Spock further, and so he swallowed all of the shameful words on his tongue and before long, the two of them drifted off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spock left early the next morning - he left a note saying he’d be home in the afternoon, that he’d gone out into the hills to collect some samples. McCoy wandered around in a daze, like he often did the morning after a bad night. By the time he’d managed to down enough coffee to wake himself up properly for his first patient, he had downed quite a lot of coffee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mary was an extraordinarily shy young woman - young enough that “Mrs Willoughby” seemed too old, too matronly a name. She had said as much herself the first time they had met, blushing through the brown curls she left loose to hide her face behind as she’d whispered that she didn’t particularly like it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mary it was, and Mary she had stayed, as McCoy carefully talked her through her pregnancy. She was almost afraid of herself, of what was happening to her body. She had no one close - no mother, no aunt, no older sisters to talk her through the process, and so McCoy had been a godsend to her, taking the place of her absent family.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How have we been feeling lately?” he said, once he had performed the usual checks and determined that she was coming along perfectly healthily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’ve been alright! Everything’s going to plan which is good, isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy was about to reply, when a flicker of movement at the window caught his eye. When he turned to see who was there though, there was nobody. He paused, torn between his desire to go and check, and his knowledge that Mary’s softly spoken reassurance was absolutely not the truth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh huh. How have you </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> been feeling lately?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mary fidgeted with a loose thread on her dress for a moment, then yanked it out - the closest he’d ever seen her to letting out any frustration.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tired,” she said honestly, “and sick too, most of the time. Sometimes I get dizzy when I’m doing the housework-”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Which you shouldn’t be doing too much of in the first place,” chided McCoy, though he followed it up with a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” sighed Mary, “I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You folks got enough help where you are?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everyone’s been very kind!” she said quickly, “it’s just that - well, when they ask what I need, my mind just goes blank! I don’t know what to say, and so I tell them it’s fine and then-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, and then you do it all yourself later, and on top of that you’ve spent all your energy entertaining a guest,” said McCoy, then regretted his words immediately when her face crumpled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doctor McCoy, I don’t know what to do,” she said, her voice cracking from the effort of holding back tears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh now, it’s alright,” he said, coming to her side, “is it alright if I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mary nodded, and he squeezed her arm. Her hand came up and covered his, and held on tightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just don’t know how to tell anyone what I need, and then of course they can’t help and I get so </span>
  <em>
    <span>upset</span>
  </em>
  <span>-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s alright, it’s alright darlin’, it’s hard sometimes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few tears slipped out and ran down her cheeks, and she hastily wiped them away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now,” said McCoy, “you tell me what it is you need help with. From all those ladies who’ve been visitin’ you, and from Joe too. We’re gonna write you a list, and you’re gonna keep it somewhere you can see it, and when someone asks you what you need, you’re gonna point. How’s that sound?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mary let out a long, shaky exhale and then gave him a tremulous smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds like I’ve been awful silly. I should’ve thought of that earlier.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, we’re thinkin’ of it now, aren’t we? And that’s the important part. Now let me just get some paper-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mary watched him as he ran to fetch a pen, ink, and paper with a little smile on her face, and before long she found herself crying again, much to her own horror.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh now, what’s wrong?” said McCoy, hurrying back to her side in alarm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing!” Mary said, laughing in spite of herself, “I was just thinkin’ about how kind you’ve been to me and it set me off again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now there’s some silliness if I ever heard it,” said McCoy, though his smile was fond and full of warmth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After Mary, there was a series of children from around town - they had received a box of smallpox vaccine points - and the rest of his morning and well into the afternoon was taken up with a steady stream of infants and children to come and get their inoculations done. McCoy didn’t exactly dread the work, but it was repetitive. The constant reassurances the children needed of him, and the patience and care required of him were trying for his frazzled mind today. Then there was the matter of the window - several more times during the afternoon, McCoy would be mid-sentence when he’d see a flicker of movement there, but it seemed like either whoever it was was very, </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span> good at darting out of the way just in time - or his mind was playing tricks on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Or maybe it’s just a bird flying around outside, </span>
  </em>
  <span>McCoy thought angrily, </span>
  <em>
    <span>or one of the kids runnin’ around while they wait for their shots. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no time for him to dither while he sorted out his own paranoia. He had work to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Most of the youngest children were accompanied by their mothers, though anyone older than seven or so had wandered up by themselves, sent up there with clear instructions to wait at the flower house until Doctor McCoy came to see them. McCoy hoped that a little jab in the arm wouldn’t instill any lasting fears in his littlest patients.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re very brave, my little friend,” he said to the latest child: three-year-old Sally, sat wriggling in the lap of her mother, Mrs Betson. Or Hallie, as she had insisted this morning, quite out of the blue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first new shoots of a plum tree seedling sat in a pot just outside the door; she had come ready with it to plead her case to him since she couldn’t pay with money just yet - and had insisted on leaving it with him when he’d told her that really wasn’t necessary at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wanna go home,” said Sally, having had enough of sitting still and being poked with sharp bits of ivory for the day. McCoy didn’t blame her. He’d quite had enough of doing the poking, himself. He stood and stretched as Mrs Betson - Hallie - took her leave of him, digging his fists into the small of his back. There were two more kids waiting outside, and then he was done, from what he could tell. Twins - the unsettling kind, who looked the same, dressed the same, and finished each others’ sentences. He knew one of them was Winston and one of them was Elvis, but damned if he’d figure out which one was which. They were definitely the last two, because they were always the latest to arrive at anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took a deep breath and put on his most reassuring smile before he opened the door - to find nobody sitting there out the front. That was odd - the twins had definitely been there last time he’d checked. They’d been pretty patient, sitting on the edge of the front porch with their legs swinging, whistling and singing songs with made up words. McCoy looked around - there were no kids to be seen. And nothing to hear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps they’d gotten sick of waiting and gone home? That didn’t seem right either. A sliver of worry entered McCoy's chest as more possibilities presented themselves to him. Perhaps something had happened to them? But what could possibly-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy went cold as he remembered the figure at the window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All at once, his brain cycled through the possibilities and landed at the worst possible one - Sarek. Perhaps they’d been taken hostage. Perhaps they’d finally been found, it was possible that two children were now in danger, and it was because of him-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Winston?” he called, fear cracking his voice, “Elvis?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No reply came. McCoy hurried around down the back of the house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Elvis? Winston?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No reply. McCoy began to run out into the scrubby woods that bordered the town, panic building in his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you boys are out here playin’ a game, it ain’t funny. Now come on inside!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy ran faster, checking every tree, every rock, every bit of undergrowth along the way as he searched. He turned around and around, helpless in trying to figure out a direction to go in, until his foot caught on a branch and sent him stumbling to the ground. There on all fours he stayed for a moment, panting, trying to get a hold of himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re panicking,” he said out loud, “get up, go and check the house again, and then go and find their dad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their father would be at the saloon, and most likely in no state to come and see to his children. Somehow that was the thought that made McCoy pick himself up, and he walked back to his house on shaky legs. He could feel himself trembling now, and rolled his eyes at his own idiocy. Really, losing it right now was-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a man in his garden.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Panic coursed through him again, and McCoy let out a gasp before Winston and Elvis emerged from two particularly dense clusters of flowers and ran towards the man. It was Spock. Spock was home. He’d startled at the arrival of his own lover.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We hid from Doctor McCoy!” said Winston gleefully, wrapping his arms around one of Spock’s legs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He couldn’t find us!” agreed Elvis, mirroring his brother’s actions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spock continued to make his way up the garden path, though McCoy had to admit he looked quite ridiculous trying to do so with two young boys clinging to his legs. Spock stopped short of McCoy and looked him over. He knew he must look a sight, sweaty and disheveled from his momentary panic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Playing tricks on your Doctor is unwise. He is responsible for your health.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, but we were just tryin’ to have a bit of fun,” pouted Elvis.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, your garden’s real easy to hide in once you figure out the best spots!” agreed Winston.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do not believe Doctor McCoy looks amused,” said Spock, “you boys ought to apologise, and then see to whatever business you came here for.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winston and Elvis detangled themselves from his legs and went over to McCoy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re sorry sir!” they said in near-unison. They looked so genuinely contrite that McCoy saw no choice but to nod, smile, and ruffle their hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No harm done boys. But maybe save the play for when it’s time to play, hm? Come on up, I’ll get you both sorted out in no time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mollified that Doctor McCoy wasn’t mad at them, the boys happily followed him up into the house, followed by Spock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shots were over soon enough, though the twins seemed to want to compete to see who could give the most dramatic groans of agony at receiving the jabs in their arms. McCoy wasn’t sure who won, but they both certainly deserved some kind of a prize for their efforts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, have you boys eaten?” said McCoy ushering the two of them into the kitchen. Of course they hadn’t. McCoy sent the two of them home with the rest of Mrs Buckley’s bread and a little cheese, and sighed at the sight of the two of them making their way back into town, kicking up dirt and running into each other, as young children tended to do. Spock joined him in the doorway as the sun began it’s downwards climb. McCoy felt a hand on his waist. He took it in his own, and brought it to his lips to press a kiss to Spock’s knuckles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were upset by the boys’ actions,” said Spock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Inordinately so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy sighed, and then realised Spock was standing directly behind him, blocking him from retreating back into the house. Damn him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, I just had a bit of a - I guess I was more rattled from last night than I realised.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You believed harm had come to them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Well, I mean, I know it sounds stupid but-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have been through enough together to know that your fears are not unfounded.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm. Yeah. Can we go back inside now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spock lingered there for a moment longer, as though he wanted to press the matter. However the moment passed, and he stood aside to let McCoy through.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy busied himself with putting the patients’ room back in order, and was halfway through straightening up the chairs before he realised that if he wanted Spock to know something was wrong, being the one to tidy up was a surefire way to make sure his discomfort was being broadcast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure enough, when he emerged, Spock had put water on to boil and had set out a small meal for the two of them on the table. The two things that in their silent agreement, were McCoy's jobs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy sat down at the table and muttered a soft thank-you to Spock. Spock sat across from him, his food untouched, his hands folded in his lap. Waiting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re gonna think I’m crazy,” said McCoy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spock remained silent, leaving McCoy no choice but to continue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought I saw something outside the window. I couldn’t see what it was, but I thought - I thought it was someone. I thought there might have been a person there, but every time I looked properly, they were gone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And nobody else in the room saw this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, the chairs they sit in face away from the - wait, do you believe me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have no reason not to,” said Spock, “Leonard, tell me. What do your instincts tell you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My instincts feel all tangled up right now,” said McCoy, “I’m so scared of what might happen I think it’s just taken over me entirely. I don’t know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spock had the faraway look in his eyes that he often got when he was deep in thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I also do not know. With no word from my mother, it is difficult to say what fate awaits us, even now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy let out a shaky laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s drivin’ me crazy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spock buried his head in his hands, breathing deeply. It seemed that McCoy's words had struck him somewhere vulnerable, and McCoy got up in alarm, rushing to the other side of the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Spock, what-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I apologise, Doctor,” asid Spock, his voice teetering on the last frayed remains of his control for tonight, “I cannot blame myself for the actions of my father, but I cannot help but feel some responsibility-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Spock,” said McCoy, horrified, “Spock, listen to me. I’ve never been this damn happy in my entire life. I never thought I’d ever get a chance at - at something like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To live your life in constant fear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, nobody’s perfect,” said McCoy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spock’s eyes were shining as he lifted his head and met McCoy's eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon, Spock,” said McCoy, tugging at his sleeve, “we’re both a mess tonight. Come to bed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spock rose and did as McCoy asked, allowing himself to be led into their bedroom. They lay there side by side, McCoy's hand resting on top of his, their fingers laced together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve gotta keep an eye out,” said McCoy, “in case it is him. In case he’s tryin’ something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My father is unfortunately good at his job due to his unpredictability and careful planning. If you have caught glimpses of his work, it is undoubtedly by design.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your father is a terrifying man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He is barely a man, but yes. I can only hope that the absence of news means an absence of danger.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm. Be good to know, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yet I wish I could keep it all from you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy wriggled closer, pressed his nose to Spock’s shoulder, and breathed in deeply. He smelt of wood and grass, and he let himself bask in the sensation of Spock’s closeness to him, the smell of him, the touch of their bodies. Spock’s fingers grazed gently over his arm, and the action was soothing enough that the two of them drifted off like that, tangled around each other, neither of them willing to let go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spock had some errands to run the next morning, so McCoy whiled away the time himself in the woods, gathering wood for the stove and seeing if he could forage for anything interesting. Then he went to fetch the bag of acorns that had been rinsing in the stream for the past few days, since they should have been ready. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy whistled to himself as he made his way through the woods, knowing that wherever he was, Spock was likely humming the same tune. They had both woken with the melody running through their heads, and it made for a pleasant accompaniment to the woods, which were alive with the chatter of birds, the rustling of trees, and the pleasant burble of running water. McCoy could never quite remember where along the stream he left his acorn bags - he often tried to use sticks or piles of stones as markers, but as there were plenty of those about, well, he tended to lose track of where they were. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aha, there you are!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hessian sack, about the side of someone’s head, was there submerged in the water. McCoy opened it up and ran a hand through the contents, satisfied that they were clean enough to eat by now. Spock liked to take them with him if he was going to be in the saddle all day, which he would likely be doing a bit of soon. He also checked a couple of the traps he’d set up around the area, but he’d never had much luck with rabbits. As expected, they were empty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was about to make his way back to the house when a movement caught his eye. Someone dressed in black, the darkness of the colour at odds with the warmth and the lightness of the rest of the sparse woodland.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy's head snapped up, and he looked directly into the face of a man just a little further downstream than him. The two of them locked eyes for a moment, the stranger standing there still and silent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi there!” called McCoy, though his heart had begun to thump against his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You on your way into town?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The stranger seemed to look him up and down, and then turned around and left. His steps were unhurried and deliberate. For a brief moment McCoy wanted to go after him, but he was unarmed and frightened out of his wits. Instead he turned tail and fled back to the house, fighting the urge to scream for Spock as he did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slammed the door behind him and leaned against it, wishing to god he could breathe quietly so that he could hear if he had been followed. When his lungs no longer quite felt about to burst, the place was silent. He stood in the middle of the room, somehow rooted to the spot with terror as he waited for the ball to drop, for someone to come bursting through the door or smashing through the window. There was no way that man had been there by accident. He had been sent by Sarek. He was sure of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The longer the silence lasted, the more his skin itched and the pressure in his chest grew, and the more he was certain he was going to die. He cast about the room for something he could possibly use as a weapon. A broom? A heavy cast iron skillet? Oh - a knife. He went to retrieve one from the cooking area, and then drew back with a gasp at a movement at the window - a sparrow, perched on the front porch, watching him warily. Well, if it was lingering there, that at least meant that there was nobody following him outside. Didn’t it? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy took the knife in trembling hands, then placed it on the benchtop. He was going mad, he was sure of it. The house was suddenly a danger to him, every wall he had his back to a potential danger he couldn’t see. No, he needed to leave. At least until Spock returned and he had someone to tell about what he had seen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy went and got his coat and hat, and hurried out in search of company.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Out on the open flat of land between their house and the main street of the town, McCoy felt terribly vulnerable. Anyone in pursuit of him might be able to pick him off from a distance, and if someone came after him, well they might be on a horse, and he was on foot. The sounds of the area, so familiar and comforting that morning, had become vicious and threatening. The call of a bird grated across his nerves like a sharp toothed knife, and every snap of a twig, every rustle of a bush, sent a bolt of fear through his chest. Each moment seemed to wear away another piece of his sanity, until McCoy began to question even himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once he reached the bustle of the town though, he began to calm. He was not alone anymore. He was among people. Familiar people. Familiar faces. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mr Buckley was, as usual, not home today. Not that that was any indictment on the sort of husband he was, but much like Spock, he was often out working during the day. Mrs Buckley did seem very surprised to see him at her door though. He didn’t often call on people, and certainly not out of the blue, unannounced and unplanned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doctor McCoy!” she said, her eyes wide and nervous, “what brings you here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” said McCoy, suddenly coming back to himself and realising he had shown up empty handed, his clothing rumpled and his brain not quite ready to process this conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doctor? Are you alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doctor. He was a doctor - that was right, nobody ever wanted to see a doctor out of the blue. That was never good news.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” he said, his wits slowly coming back to him, “yes, I’m alright, I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, his brain caught up with what was happening and he mustered the strength to plaster a smile onto his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had a morning free, so I thought I’d drop in to see how you’re doing!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that Doctor McCoy?” said another voice from inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, he’s here!” called Mrs Buckley, and she ushered McCoy inside, closing the door behind them. There at the tea table was Mary, halfway through a sandwich. On the table was a teapot with two half drunk cups of tea on it, and Mrs Buckley rushed to fetch a third one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doctor! How lovely of you to call,” said Mary with a smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy removed his hat and nodded his greeting to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lovely to see you here too, how are you feeling today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s feeling much better for having had a little help around the house!” said Mrs Buckley, appearing with a third (matching) teacup and pouring some especially fragrant smelling tea into it. Mary blushed, and hid her face in her own cup.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy inhaled the steam, allowing the warmth from the cup to seep into his hands. He held the cup tightly, willing his hands to stop shaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Glad to hear it,” he said. He was trying his best at pleasantries but the words sounded hollow and robotic, even to his own ears. The women seemed to have noticed too, because the two of them were watching him curiously. He took a sip of his drink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doctor McCoy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy snapped back to attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I asked if you wanted to sit. There’s plenty of chairs…” said Mrs Buckley. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now they definitely sensed something was up. McCoy could hardly bear the way the two of them watched him as he walked to the nearest seat (too stiff, too formal) and folded himself into it (like Spock, he was copying his mannerisms again). He had made a mistake in coming here. He rested the teacup on his knees and willed himself not to bounce his leg.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doctor,” said Mary, her voice soft, “how are </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>feeling?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never better,” said McCoy, taking a big mouthful of scalding hot tea. He immediately choked on it, and then coughed the whole mouthful out, spilling the rest of the cup down his trouser leg as he spluttered and gasped for air. Mrs Buckley and Mary both jumped up and went to him immediately, taking the cup from him and patting him on the back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“M’alright-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doctor McCoy, I hope you’ll forgive me but saying but that is a downright lie,” said Mrs Buckley, though not unkindly. She took out a handkerchief and brushed the rest of the water from him while Mary fussed over his hand, which was blotchy and red from the hot tea. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is burnt, you oughta-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m a doctor Mary, I know what to do,” said McCoy, concentrating hard on keeping his tone light as he tried to extricate himself from her grip. She let him go, but her eyes remained wide with worry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doctor, you’re shaking like a leaf,” she said, “and you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, well I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t explain the situation to her. Not without a very, very long backstory and even then, there was that fact that these ladies might very well not want a marked man in their house. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I’m just having an off day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mary and Mrs Buckley shared a look between them, but did not press the matter. Instead, Mrs Buckley left and returned with a basin of cool water, and set it in McCoy's lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what to do then, Doc.” she said primly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy huffed out a surprised laugh, but obediently put his burned hand into the water and sighed as it did indeed soothe him somewhat. He felt his face flush with shame, here in the parlour being looked after by two of his own patients.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I really am awful sorry about all this,” he said, but Mrs Buckley cut him off by flapping her hand at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop that right now, I won’t have any of it,” she said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You just sit there and breathe deep, Doctor,” said Mary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He met her eyes and she gave him a small smile, the memory of the first time she’d come to him passing between them. He’d given her that exact same line when she’d started to panic, when the knowledge that she was going to have a baby had suddenly become very real, and very frightening. He’d knelt by her chair and taken her hand and reminded her to breathe, and so the irony right now did not escape him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” he whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy stayed there until around noon while the women made easy conversation around him, which he interjected into from time to time. They didn’t seem to mind his lack of conversation, and for that he was extremely grateful. Luckily the tea didn’t seem to have been hot enough to cause any lasting damage, and eventually the burning sensation ebbed away to a faint prickling. All in all it was a pleasant way to spend the rest of the morning, and McCoy found that he quite liked the way ladies seemed to pass the time in their social hours. There was something comforting about the way they kept each other company.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the clock struck twelve though, McCoy remembered that Spock was to be back in the afternoon and took his leave, thanking the women profusely for their hospitality until the two of them all but shooed him from the house, with proclamations that he really ought to call on them more often.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He found that the land was less threatening during the walk back, somehow he felt less exposed out here, like the presence of friends had been enough to drag his mind back from where paranoia and fear had tripped him into. He would tell Spock what he had seen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spock was already in the garden by the time McCoy returned - he was pulling out weeds from the well-tended earth, and had a half full basket of them beside him. He was humming their little song from earlier, and McCoy felt a sudden surge of affection deep in his chest. Spock looked up as McCoy arrived, gazing at him from under the wide-brimmed straw hat he was wearing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How was your morning?” said McCoy, kneeling beside him to help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uneventful,” replied Spock, “which is a good thing, considering the circumstances. I did, however, find an excellent specimen of ariocarpus fissuratus on my way home, which I intend to replant around the back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, those cacti with the pink flowers? You’ve been keeping an eye out for those.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Indeed. It was gratifying to finally find one that was suitable for transplanting. I have made a note of it in my journal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy nodded and continued pulling the little shoots out of the ground, the ones that would compete with Spock’s carefully tended plants if they were not removed. Sometimes depending on the plant, Spock liked to simply transplant them elsewhere, not one to pass up the opportunity to expand his garden. He was therefore cautious about plucking anything, making sure to leave as much of the roots intact as he could. Just in case.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You left a knife out on the counter,” said Spock, his tone carefully neutral.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy felt as though Spock had doused him in ice water, although Spock made no indication that he had said anything out of the ordinary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” said McCoy, “I wanted to talk to you about that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spock nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are unharmed?” he said. There it was - there was an edge to his voice, a strain in the way that he measured his words out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. S’why I left - I went to see Mrs Buckley, I… I didn’t want to be alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spock nodded again, dusted off his hands, rose, then extended a hand to help McCoy up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come inside. We will talk there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first thing that McCoy noticed upon entering the house was that there was something new on the table, a package wrapped in an oilcloth. McCoy's breath caught as Spock unwrapped it to reveal a gun. It lay there on the table like a threat itself, something in its presence held the promise of violence, and it made McCoy shudder to see such an object inside the house that had become his refuge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did not enjoy purchasing it, either,” said Spock, “but I felt that it was necessary. We cannot simply wait until Sarek makes his move to decide what ours will be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is gonna be your move then,” said McCoy. There was no accusation in his voice, though the simmering fear in his gut made the words feel like they were sticking in his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do not doubt my ability to kill my own father, when he makes himself known,” said Spock, “but I know that it must be I who do the deed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For some sense of closure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Doctor. Because I know that were the gun in your hands, you would not be able to pull the trigger.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All of a sudden, McCoy found that he couldn’t breathe. It was as if someone had reached in and sucked the air from the room, leaving him gasping for breaths that didn’t seem to fill his lungs properly. Spock rushed to him in alarm and wrapped his hands around his arms, holding him up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doctor McCoy,” he said softly, “Leonard. Listen to me-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you listen,” snapped McCoy in between breaths, “I’m alright right now. I just need to get a goddamn grip-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You cannot be faulted for-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> I can’t be faulted for losing it when we’re in danger but dammit Spock, there was a man in the woods today. He was watching me, and it seemed like he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>only</span>
  </em>
  <span> there to watch me. If this is Sarek, he’s getting off on watching me squirm, and I don’t intend to let him continue with it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spock gently tugged at McCoy's wrist, and McCoy allowed himself to be pulled closer. He grabbed handfuls of Spock’s shirt and buried his face into his shoulder, taking in deep breaths.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t afford to be like this right now. If we’re gonna figure this out we’re gonna do it like we’ve always done it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Together?” said Spock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it’s worked up until now,” said McCoy. He felt Spock’s chin come to rest on top of his head, and he allowed himself this, for a moment. To feel wholly enveloped in Spock’s arms. Here he was safe from anyone or anything who might be out to get him. He wished he could stay that way until all of this somehow blew over, but the fact of the matter was, he couldn’t hide forever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spock declined the rest of his errands for the week, which caused a few irritated responses and raised eyebrows (and one fellow from the next town over who spat at him and stormed off). It was not a pleasant decision to have to make, but it was a necessary one. McCoy still had patients to see to, and to have no doctor around in an emergency was not a position he wanted to leave the town in, not when there wasn’t another viable candidate for the job within easy riding distance. Somebody had to keep an eye on things, though the two of them found that the constant vigilance was wearing on the both of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy woke in a panic most nights now, his sleep robbed from him by his fears manifested into images of bleeding wounds and gunshots, and old, hollow eyes. Spock was increasingly shaken too, exorcising his nervous energy by working on the house, fixing and mending and replacing where no repairs were needed. It was a bad few weeks for them, but with no information and no leads, it seemed that they were relegated to the waiting game.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, the letter arrived.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was Winston and Elvis who came and found them, the two of them racing each other up to the house, kicking up their own little dust storm as they ran.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve got a letter, Mister Spock!” shouted Elvis</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You too, Mister - sorry, Doctor McCoy!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy was treating a young lass who had fallen into a particularly thorny bush (from straying too far away from her usual playing spot), and so it was Spock who met the two of them at the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How fortunate I am to have my own two personal mailmen,” said Spock without a hint of sarcasm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I heard the mailman askin’ around for you!” said Elvis proudly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We tried to find your letter so we could take it straight here, but we couldn’t see your name anywhere,” added Winston.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose you had permission to be going through the mail cart,” murmured Spock, rummaging through the shelves for something to give the two boys</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do not answer that question if you do not intend to tell the truth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elvis paused with his mouth open, then made the wise decision to close it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright Elvis. Winston.” Spock put some biscuits on a plate and tossed it on the table as the twins scrambled to get to their seats.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One moment,” said Spock. They paused with their food halfway to their mouths.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said that the mailman was looking for me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s right sir!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ain’t the usual mailman! Mister Buckley’s still outta town!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That would explain his lack of knowledge of our whereabouts. Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He picked up his hat and headed out, calling over his shoulder-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please tell Doctor McCoy I will be back soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cariage was tethered around the back of the post office, and it was indeed not the one that the usual mailman used. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was Spock’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stood there staring at it, the familiar scratches and gouges in the green paint. It was a little more faded, a little worse for wear, but there was no mistaking that it was in fact the wagon that he had left behind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spock advanced on it slowly, listening for whoever the driver might be. His father, perhaps? Surely not. Sarek had more style than that, even if he was on the run from the law.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I help you sir?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spock spun around to see a short, squat young man with his hands on his hips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you the new mailman?” said Spock, looking him up and down. He didn’t look like the type of person Sarek tended to hire. Sarek put a lot of stock in the looks of his men, wanted people who would inspire fear and intimidation alongside the work that they did. On the other hand, perhaps his father was a more desperate man than he had realised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, somethin’ like that,” said the man, hawking up a gob of spit and letting it fly in an impressive arc through the air, landing in the dust at Spock’s feet. Spock fought the urge to flinch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was told you had a letter for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man’s eyes widened suddenly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“S-Spock?” he said, the name emerging as a half-squeak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Indeed,” said Spock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps he had been mistaken. The young man’s demeanour had changed completely as he scrambled to get something from the wagon, his face white as a sheet as he passed by Spock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where did you get that wagon from?” said Spock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, it was uh. I got it from the mail. Service.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is the wagon of a private contractor,” said Spock, “I ought to know, it used to be mine. Now tell me, who sent you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a flurry of shuffling from the front of the wagon, and then the man emerged once more, stuffing something into the inner pocket of his jacket and then drawing himself up to his full height and puffing out his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The mail service,” he said again, looking Spock directly in the eye. He took a deep breath in, and then let it out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very well,” said Spock, “in that case-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He held out his hand for the mail, and the man reached inside his jacket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And pulled out a gun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here it is,” said the man, and Spock noted that the gun in his hand was shaking. Perhaps Sarek </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> more desperate than he had thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If this is the message, you can deliver my sincere regrets to the sender that I cannot accept it,” said Spock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The gun shook harder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If that is all, I will be going now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spock, hoping fiercely that he had judged the young man correctly, turned and walked slowly away. No sound followed him, no sharp pain in his chest, no dizzying knowledge that he was going to do. For a moment, he believed that he had gotten away with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then a loud shot rang out, and a searing pain tore through his leg. He fell to the ground immediately, his face twisted in a grimace of pain as his right leg could suddenly no longer bear his weight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could hear people running towards them and shouting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You!”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The Sheriff. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hands on his shoulders, turning him over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mister Spock!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was one of McCoy's usual patients. Her name was something familiar, on the tip of his tongue, the memory of it wiped by the agony currently digging its claws into his leg.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve got to get you to the doctor. Fetch a cart -  oh, we’ll use this one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The clink of chains. People moving, kicking up dust everywhere, choking him. Or perhaps it was simply getting harder to breathe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, we’ve got to get him up - hey, that mail wagon’s empty, put him in there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not the mailman-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sheriff, are you alright to-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This bastard’s not getting away any time soon Mrs Buckley… are you three sure you can drive that thing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Strong hands under his arms. Oh, he had to stand now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The initial shock had worn off, and Spock leaned heavily on Mrs Buckley and her friend as he half-limped, half-hopped to the mail wagon. They lay him on his back on the floor of it, and Spock was suddenly reminded of all the nights he’d spent in here, wrapped in a blanket that did very little to keep out the cold desert nights. That was before he’d known the Doctor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Doctor!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need to get to Doctor McCoy,” he said, the words finally shaken loose from his state of shock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yes, he’ll get you patched up right away, don’t you worry,” said a voice from somewhere beside him. Spock struggled up onto his elbows and found that the lady McCoy had been seeing about her baby - Mrs something-or-other, he couldn’t quite remember - was there in the wagon with him. She sat down on an empty crate as Mrs Buckley pressed a clean cloth to his wound, and then bound it tightly with someone’s scarf.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He might be in danger,” said Spock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pregnant woman - Willoughby, that was it, Mary Willoughby - did not seem surprised by this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I really think you ought to explain that one,” she said, “he’s been in a right state since he showed up at Mrs Buckley’s house looking like he’d seen a ghost.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah, so she had been one of the ones McCoy had gone to. He could trust her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do not know that I have time to explain everything. But I shall do my best.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I don’t know that Hallie’s ever driven anything before, so I imagine we’re all doing our best right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That did not fill Spock with confidence, and he couldn’t tell if the beating of his heart was from the adrenaline of being shot, or from the fear that grew with every second of what was happening to McCoy right now. Where was he? Had he been lured away on purpose?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, tell our, er, driver that we ought to stop out of sight of the house,” said Spock, “and tell the Sheriff to bring his men! I believe the doctor is in danger.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs Buckley finished her work, and then patted his good leg kindly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll catch up to you in a moment,” she said, “I promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs Buckley left, leaving Mary Willoughby and Spock alone in the wagon. Mary gave him a nervous smile, then grabbed at the wall as somebody outside shouted, and they began to move.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wagon lurched and then accelerated, shaking the two of them in their seats. Mary overbalanced slightly and Spock sat up and caught her arm to steady her, groaning as his leg protested the motion. Mary watched helplessly as he lowered himself back to the floor of the wagon, his teeth gritted against the pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just the same, the two of you, aren’t you?” she said softly, “I sure hope you’re looking after each other.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spock focused on his breathing for a while, trying to get the pain in his leg under control. Mary held his hand the whole way, though she herself was pale with fear. The wagon rattled along, jostling him until he felt as though his sanity was hanging on by a thread - until finally it came to a stop. Mary confirmed that they had gone off the road, and were a little way away from the house yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound of galloping hooves emerged from the quiet, and Spock felt a little relief at that; relief that soon dissipated when the door opened and Mrs Buckley, her hair wild and her face flushed and red, appeared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Sheriff?” said Spock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Busy with your man,” said Mrs Buckley with exasperation, “I tried to get him to come. Mary, how are you feeling?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright. Bumpy ride, but it’s not too bad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s my girl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If the Sheriff isn’t coming then, what-” said Spock, and then trailed off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Up behind Mrs Buckley came Louisa, her teenage daughter. In her hands was an old shotgun, which she handed to her mother.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” said Spock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop us,” said Mrs Buckley. The wagon door swung shut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, now can I trust you two fine, upstanding gentlemen to see this lovely young lady back to town?” said McCoy, kneeling to straighten the shirts of the three children he was sending off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yessir!” said Winston and Elvis, standing up as tall as they could manage. Elvis saluted him, and Winston followed suit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good, I knew I could count on you,” said McCoy with a wink. He opened the door and watched the children run out - and then froze at the sight of three men at his front gate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sarek he recognised, although the dark browns and blacks he wore this time were a working man’s clothes, rough and worn and sun bleached. With him was the man from the river, and another stranger he didn’t recognise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The three of them stood aside while the children ran past and down the path. Once they were far enough away, the three of them made their leisurely way up the path and to his door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have time to squeeze in one last appointment Doctor McCoy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy couldn’t help himself, his gaze slid past Sarek to the path as a part of him willed Spock to hurry home. What was taking him so long?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I wouldn’t wait for a rescue,” said Sarek, “you’ll find that my son is indisposed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Indisposed?” said McCoy, hating the way his voice trembled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Sarek, “on account of being dead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy felt his hands grow numb, and his breath caught in his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The mailman,” he whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You catch on quickly. Now, let’s go inside where you and I can have a nice talk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy did not so much obey as allow himself to be manhandled by Sarek’s men, who brought him inside and sat him down at the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My son has consistently caused me more trouble than he is worth,” said Sarek, “No doubt he’s said the same about me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy wanted a retort for that. He wanted something that would wipe the smug smile off Sarek’s face, the little smile of satisfaction, like he had just finished a particularly good meal. Words, however, were lost in the swirl of panic churning away in his belly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have very little in the way of requirements for you, Doctor. In fact, I’m even willing to let you live, if you just tell me one thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other night, McCoy had taken a knife from the drawer because he had thought someone was watching him. He hadn’t thought about using it. Hadn’t contemplated the idea of steel slicing through flesh out of terror and the need to defend himself. But he thought about it now. There was a knife in this room. And there was a gun-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where is my wife?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy blinked, then rubbed at his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve just told me that the man I love most in this world is dead,” said McCoy hoarsely, “could you let me… I dunno. Wash up? Get a drink of water?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sarek jerked his chin towards the jug and basin on the bench, and McCoy got up slowly. He didn’t have to pretend that he was unsteady on his feet as he made his halting way to the storage cupboard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The gun was there on the bottom shelf, almost comically obvious in its placement. McCoy swiped it, and in one smooth motion pulled the hammer back and pointed it at Sarek. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sarek did not flinch; in fact he sat back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you think you’re going to do with that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy jabbed the barrel of the gun at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna shoot you, you bastard,” he hissed, hating himself for the way his breath hitched, for the way tears sprang into his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you, now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy thought about it. He’d seen gunshots aplenty. He’d seen the bullets rip through flesh, he’d healed his share of bullet holes in his time. He adjusted his grip, and miraculously his hands stayed steady.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His finger tightened on the trigger, and he squeezed his eyes shut, unable to watch himself-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In that split second, he knew. He wouldn’t be able to follow through.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The gun was taken from his hands like one might remove it from a particularly stupid child, to stop him from hurting himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way,” said Sarek, “let’s get back to business.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once more, McCoy was shoved towards the table and into a chair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Spock would hold out until he died if I wanted anything out of him, so I spared him the trouble. You, on the other hand. You’re the soft type.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy opened his mouth to disagree, but he felt the tickle of a teardrop run down the side of his nose and he closed his mouth again, blushing with shame.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll tell me where to find Amanda.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy wished he could say with any certainty that he was wrong. Fear and grief had paralyzed him, and he couldn’t say what he might or might not do. But none of it mattered anyway. Because he had absolutely no idea where Amanda was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spock tried to get his legs under him. There was no way he would simply lie here while McCoy was in danger. Not a chance in hell. He took a deep, even breath, hoping that Mary wouldn’t notice what he was doing, and moved. At once, white hot pain lanced through his leg and he could not stop the groan of pain that escaped his gritted teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?” said Mary, by his side in a second, looking him over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am perfectly fine,” replied Spock, easing himself back down onto the floor of the wagon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course you are,” said Mary, squeezing his arm, “now you just stay there until Mrs Buckley and the rest come back with Doctor McCoy. He’s in good hands, Mr Spock.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neither of them believed it, but unable to move anywhere, they had no other choice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I apologise. For what the doctor and I have brought to your town.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yes, you’d better apologise for all that,” said Mary, “you can start by sayin’ sorry for all the women in town who’ve got a doctor to do to now. And all the kids who come runnin’ to your house when they need a friendly face. Don’t think we haven’t noticed them Delaware twins up there every chance they get.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was there no doctor before McCoy?” said Spock with surprise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“None we could go to,” said Mary, “you’ve never tried bein’ a woman and goin’ to the doc before, have you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spock shook his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Regrettably I cannot say that I am experienced in this matter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I will tell you this. Those ladies up there might not be the best shots, or the greatest in a fight, but they sure as hell aren’t giving up your Doctor McCoy any time soon. And I suppose that counts for something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a knock at the door, and Sarek and his men startled, whirling around to see who it was. Sarek pointed at the door, and then at McCoy. His expression brokered no arguments.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who is it?” called McCoy, and thankfully he was able to keep his voice steady.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s Louisa!” came the voice, young and high pitched. She sounded worried.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Be there in a moment!” replied McCoy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sarek drew his gun and pointed it at McCoy, then at the door. He and his men retreated to the patients’ room, and McCoy opened the door to find Louisa there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doctor McCoy!” she exclaimed, “I’m so glad you’re here! My mother was saying that you weren’t feeling too good earlier, so she thought I oughta come and check in on you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s very kind of you,” said McCoy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Louisa’s eyes darted from side to side, and she nodded towards the garden. McCoy looked past her, and saw the tops of Mrs Buckley’s and Mrs Betson’s bonnets from where they were crouched in the garden. His eyes widened, and he shook his head silently, mutely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She wanted to know if you still needed her help?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell her she’s in no way wanted, nor allowed to come up here,” said McCoy, layering as much seriousness as he could into his words without raising his voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She says she’ll come and check on you later anyway!” chirped Louisa. She curtsied, and then ran back down the stairs. McCoy closed the door, then leaned his head against the frame, willing his legs to stop shaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who was that?” hissed Sarek as he came back into the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Local girl,” he said, “I was feelin’ a little off a few days ago, she came to check that I was doin’ alright. Good kid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have no doubt,” said Sarek, then gestured at his men. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two of them came and grabbed each of McCoy'ss arms, and dragged him to the centre of the room, where they threw him to the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing?” said McCoy, “Alright, I’m on the floor. Now what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now I ask you again,” said Sarek, “where do I find Amanda? I know you two must have found her, or else you would have come back to report on her death.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t occur to you that we might not be too keen on coming back?” said McCoy, “what with how charming you are to be around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sarek nodded at one of his men, and McCoy's head snapped backwards as a boot connected with his chin and his teeth clacked painfully together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh right, we’re doin’ this now,” muttered McCoy. Oddly, though his heart was still pounding, he now felt a clarity he had not felt earlier, when he had been unsure and frightened of what was to come. Up until now, Sarek had been shrouded in mystery, elevated on his platform of secrecy and the mythology of his work. This man in front of him, however, was opting for beating the hell out of him. Beat up the man, get the information. Like any common thug. There was nothing McCoy feared more than losing what fragile peace he and Spock and found, and now that that had happened, there was nothing left to scare him. Sarek was just a man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m tellin’ you,” said McCoy, “I just don’t know where she is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Liar,” said Sarek, “I know you feel loyal to Spock, whatever he was to you. But he’s gone now. You don’t have to protect him, or Amanda.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but it’s gonna bother the hell out of you,” said Bones, “and that works too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy was cut off as the butt of a gun cracked across his face. He hoped he wouldn’t have to live with anything broken. That would be unpleasant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sarek grabbed a handful of his hair and wrenched his head backwards. McCoy gasped as tears sprung into his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll fold at some point,” growled Sarek, “I know you will. You’re not very good at this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sarek snapped his fingers, and then suddenly blows were coming at him from all directions. McCoy curled onto his side, curling his arms around his head to protect it from the boots that were kicking at him, stomping at him. It was painful, yes, but nothing beyond his endurance. Nothing he couldn’t take if he needed to. McCoy grit his teeth and did his best to block the pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then his arms were grabbed and held behind his back, and he felt something wrapped around his wrists - too tight! Too tight. Adrenaline spiked in his chest as he realised he couldn’t move his arms anymore and something more primal took over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, now it begins to sink in,” said Sarek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy opened his mouth to retort but all that came out was an inarticulate cry. This caused Sarek to chuckle, and a boot connected with his side again. It knocked everything just a little too far out of sync with reality. His eyes unfocused as something came down on his back, and across his shoulders. He was vaguely aware that he was making a sound, although in between the confusion, the stomping of boots, the tearing of fabric, the grunts of exertion, he wasn’t sure which one belonged to him. Fear, terror, panic - all of these were shut away, beaten out of him and leaving him with one lingering sensation - the awareness that he hurt, and badly. He existed as a physical ache, a body that would tense and suffer and groan, gasp for breath, only for the cycle to start all over again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somebody was beating at his skull, and he prayed that it would knock him unconscious, that it would free him from the waking world. Perhaps he said it out loud too, because suddenly he was alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lay there, limp and panting, trying to quell the scream that was building in his chest from the way his arms had been bound. They’d left him perched oddly on his shoulder, and he knew he couldn’t move properly to prop himself up. He couldn’t move-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pounding happened again, and McCoy realised that they hadn’t been hitting him in the head at all. Somebody was knocking at the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doctor McCoy?” said a muffled voice that McCoy recognised as Mrs Buckley’s. No. No, no no-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a woman at the door,” said Sarek. He was bending over McCoy now, his face so close their noses threatened to touch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So there is,” whispered McCoy, his voice barely hanging on by a thread.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know her,” said Sarek, “she’s familiar to you. Not a patient.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everyone’s been a patient of mine at some point.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sarek’s smile widened, and suddenly reality realigned and drove the sharp sensation of emotion deep into his bones. He could feel again. This time the feeling that blossomed in his chest was terror.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to open the door. And I’m going to shoot her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sarek’s eyes did not smile with his mouth, but they glittered with some wild energy that McCoy knew meant business.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please,” said McCoy, suddenly barely able to draw breath, “please don’t, please-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Where is she?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know” shouted McCoy, “I don’t know, I haven’t known for over a year now, and if it would save that woman’s life I would tell you too, I swear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was he crying, or was he bleeding? His face was damp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not good enough,” said Sarek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Time to open up,” said the man closest to the door, the man from the river. He grinned and put his hand on the doorknob, and Sarek pulled the hammer back on his gun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door slammed open with a mighty crash and caught the man squarely in the face, sending him stumbling backwards. Mrs Buckley was in his house. Mrs Buckley was in his house, brandishing a shotgun, her hair wild and her dress torn up the side. For one second, a laugh burbled away in McCoy’s chest as he realised her dream was finally coming true. He was frozen at the sight of her, until a rock smashed its way through the window, jolting him into action. Sarek was distracted, and he took the opportunity to kick out at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The resulting gunshot went through the roof, and a thought flashed through McCoy's mind that Spock would have a hell of a time trying to patch that one up.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s gone.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Spock will never fix that leak.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Somehow, that tiny detail burrowed deeper than anything Sarek had said himself, and, unsure of what to do with the feeling, McCoy turned to rage. Sarek had taken everything from them, and now he wanted more, and he would never stop, and the thought burned through McCoy from his heart all the way out to his fingers and his toes. It drove him to his feet and he ran at Sarek with a shout, barrelling into him as Hallie Betson and Mrs Buckley held his remaining man at gunpoint. Sarek snarled and grabbed at McCoy, and McCoy grabbed back, tearing at him with all the strength he had left, until Sarek was dragging him down onto the ground and pummeling him with his fists. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In that moment, if he’d had Spock’s gun, who knows what he would have done with it. For a moment, McCoy knew nothing but singleminded rage. But then somebody broke a chair over his Sarek’s head and the man paused, his eyes round and wide with shock, and landed on top of McCoy in a heap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doctor McCoy!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy lay there, blinking in shock. He felt like he was still coming back to himself, like the dead weight on top of him hadn’t been trying to kill him mere seconds before. Louisa and Hallie pulled the unconscious man off him, and he stared at the women - Mrs Buckley, who was currently in the process of tying up Sarek’s men, and Hallie, who was already making short work of Sarek himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doctor,” she said, “Oh, Doctor McCoy, what have they done to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“M’alright,” said McCoy, though he felt like he was teetering on the edge of something. Like he might fall off at any moment, and there was no telling if he would ever make it back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doctor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Louisa knelt behind him and deftly undid the knots at his wrists, and McCoy nearly sobbed with relief. Slowly, like he was moving through molasses, he brought his aching limbs about and struggled up onto all fours, and then onto his knees. Louisa and Hallie were at his side immediately, holding his arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doctor?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy stared at the floor, pain having drained him of all but the empty hollow remaining in his chest at the fact that Spock was - well, Spock was -</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve got to go get Spock!” gasped Louisa, “he must be so worried!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy wrapped his arms around his waist at the sound of Spock’s name and wailed, . , and the women converged on him, holding him up from all sides. Someone’s hand was gently stroking his hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hush now, you’ve been through a lot. We’re going to go fetch your Mr Spock, and we’ll get the two of you cleaned up,” said Mrs Buckley, and McCoy took his first breath in what seemed like an eternity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s alive,” he croaked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” said Mrs Buckley softly, “yes, Doctor. He’s hurt, but he’s alive. We brought him with us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, the last of McCoy's strength left him, and he sank back to the ground, pressing his forehead against the hard wooden floor and forcing himself to breathe. Spock was alive. They were going to be alright. Spock was alive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey now, what’s goin’ on up here?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The clink of spurs. The creak of the door as the Sheriff and two of his men walked in. What they saw was a mess of shattered furniture and glass, a floor spotted with blood. Three men were tied up, and a fourth, battered and bleeding, was huddled on the floor surrounded by the town’s women.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About goddamn time you arrived!” spat Mrs Buckley, and just this time, Sheriff Cassidy felt like the curse was entirely deserved, given the situation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They took McCoy and they lay him on his bed where he waited silently, hating every moment of it. Mrs Buckley came in to clean his wounds despite his protests and attempts to do it himself. She simply clucked her tongue at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sit still now,” she said as she dabbed at the particularly nasty welts across his back, where some of the skin had split open. McCoy hissed in pain - the carbolic acid burned like hell, but at least he wouldn’t succumb to infection. The constant assault on his senses had exhausted him, however, and his head felt too heavy for his shoulders, even as his attention kept spiking with every movement outside that might have been Spock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re pretty good at this,” he said, his words slightly slurred.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you think we did before we had you around?” replied Mrs Buckley.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dunno. Prayed really hard,” said McCoy, listing slightly to the side. Mrs Buckley shook her head and propped him back up again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His wounds were dressed when finally the door swung open and Spock was brought in, supported between the Sheriff and one of the deputies. He was pale and looked a little woozy, but when he met McCoy's eyes he seemed to come to life once more, his usually cool demeanour wavering from the sheer relief he felt at seeing his lover alive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Spock,” he said, scooting over on the bed to make room for him, “what have you gotten yourself into now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could very easily ask you the same question,” said Spock. He was weak, his voice unsteady and quiet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy sat up, and then beckoned to Mrs Buckley.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve done so much for us already,” he said softly, “but would you mind helping me with this one last thing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doctor,” said Mrs Buckley, “nobody’s keepin’ any tallies around here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy could have hugged her, but instead he pointed at the gauze and bandages she’d had set out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Give me a hand with his leg too?” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The leg, as it turned out, had been similarly well bound. It was a simple matter of cleaning, stitching, and bandaging that he could do in his sleep, which was good because the events on the day were beginning to weigh so heavily on him now he could barely keep his eyes open. Mrs Buckley took each instrument from his numb fingers and replaced them as he worked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“S’ry,” he said, taking a deep breath and willing his hands to steady.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are doing an extraordinary job,” murmured Spock, “your care is the one constant in my life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy wasn’t sure if he was blinking fatigue out of his bleary eyes, or tears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally when he was done, she tidied up around him as he fell back onto the bed, worn out. Spock shuffled a little closer to him and the two of them brought their foreheads together. McCoy wanted to kiss him, wanted to touch him all over to make sure he was real. He ran his hands down Spock’s arms and then up along his shoulders, up past his neck, and was finally claimed by exhaustion as his palms came up to cradle his cheeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t believe it,” whispered McCoy, his eyes already sliding shut, “I think it might actually… be over.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spock watched as his breathing slowed and evened out, and covered McCoy's hand with his own. The tired doctor was scraped and bruised all over, his hair still tousled and falling into his face, his skin marred with angry red marks. McCoy's hand felt fragile underneath his palm, the calluses of his fine boned fingers rough against his cheek. Yet here they were once again - wounded and battered, but alive. Always alive. The reality that they might finally be rid of Sarek was only beginning to sink in, but in spite of himself, Spock felt a weight begin to lift from him that he hadn’t even known was there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>McCoy huffed softly in his sleep, and Spock’s hand tightened on his as pride swelled in his chest. They had done it. They were finally free, and in spite of everything they had suffered - that felt like enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The house still sits where it has always been. They have not had time to add on to it in the years they have stayed there. It remains small. It remains sturdy, repaired by steady hands and methodical eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The garden is full to bursting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It overflows with flowers, but now with people too - children who hide in the bushes, women from the town who marvel over how hard they have worked to cultivate these fragile bursts of colour, silent men who come to see, and might leave with a newly opened friend tucked into their buttonhole, and a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inside, the desert blooms are planted in neat rows of white, yellow, orange, red, and pink. But past the fence, they spill out onto the path, winding their way in clumps and patches, all the way out into the wilderness. They have found a way to grow and thrive, and out there on the dusty path, they lead the weary traveler on their way back home.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks everyone who's followed me on what has turned out to be my longest running fanfic venture to date! It's been super fun plotting all this out, and I've really appreciated all your kind words on the first two fics!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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